The Missing Piece of Tape

"A missing piece of tape?" you ask. As insignificant as that? Admittedly, the tape wasn't valuable. It was ordinary painters tape, that recognizable blue and easily removed from whichever surface it's adhered to. It's not the fact that it was tape, or that it became removed that this is about. I know how it became removed, and where, and when. It should have the simplest of things to locate the piece. Nobody or no thing was around to account for how it wasn't in the spot where it became removed. It's simply the why of how it was and still is missing that this is about.

First, of course, is the tale of how the piece of tape came to be used at all. Nobody was painting. It hadn't been taken from its roll to be used in another jewelry project, which is its main household use these days. It had become medical tape. And as always, there is more to the story than that.

If you're keeping up, you know that my Watchman had successfully sealed of that little chamber in the heart where blood might form clots, which might then become loose and travel to very nasty places and cause very nasty consequences. You also should know that the policy after success is to remove Warfarin from the meds list and replace it with Plavix, or generic equivalent. The doc knew that, the doc told me, the doc told my pharmacy and everything was set up to go.

What nobody had mentioned anywhere in the process was the timing of the transition, beyond "before" and "after". I was to continue warfarin on its usual schedule until the TEE test confirmed it wasn't needed. I specifically asked and was answered that it wasn't to be stopped until after the procedure confirmed it was OK.

So far, so good.

What nobody thought to inform me was that the Plavix should not be started until all the Warfarin had left my system. It was just, start it after the procedure. Turns out, as you might suspect by now, that it takes a few days to clear out the Warfarin. Before that, Plavix just doubles down. Oops.

The morning after the procedure, I apparently bumped a teeny tiny little scab off the back of my wrist in the shower. By the time I was fixing my hair, I noticed a little streak of blood, feeling wet where my sleeve rubbed over it with the arm motion. No biggie, bandaid attached, head on to the club for the morning.

A couple hours later, arm movement again felt a little wet, so I peeled back the sleeve and took a peek. Luckily the club has bandaids. Big ones, I suspect due to the dangers possible from the grinders and such. I replaced the original. An hour later, I did it again, this time adding a folding of paper towel to soak up whatever the pad wouldn't hold. And so throughout the day. Understand, there was nothing dramatic in this tiny seepage, beyond being relentless. I figured a salad, lots of greens with vitamin K, would make a good supper. And maybe hold off on a bedtime Plavix, eh?

With the wrist still oozing, and hours of sleep ahead where presumably nothing would rouse me enough to change the tape, I took a big cotton ball and wrapped the wrist three times around with -you guessed it - painters tape. Nothing tight, sticking to itself to stay put, lots of absorbancy. Seems foolproof. Right?

And it was, having curled back on itself only a few inches in the night. However, another teeny scab had gotten bumped just before bedtime, just barely starting to indicate it might do what the other had been, so I stretched about a foot long piece of the same tape around my calf before bed.

I tend to sleep on one side, at least until my shoulder complains loudly enough to wake me to roll over. I know when it happens because I also have to wake sufficiently to lift the sheet and blanket enough to avoid getting entangled in them. Then zonk out again. That night wasn't a restless one.

I had proof. I couldn't help noticing while in the bathroom that morning that there was a monster bruise on the top of the down-side thigh. Deep deep purple. Looking a bit more, there was more on the same side on my lower belly. Nothing anywhere else, at least not in that color range. Turned out, as the day progressed, that some part of me thought either my waistband was too tight or I was spending too much time reaching over tables in the club. Or something.  Little blue spots popped up in seemingly unbumped random places, all day.

And one tiny blue spot where the wrist had been wrapped overnight, finally successfully stopping that seep. This I noticed first thing in the bathroom, which reminded me to check out the piece of tape on my leg. It wasn't there. It hadn't fallen off on the several feet walk into the bathroom. It wasn't between the covers, either bottom or top sides. It wasn't on the floor on that side of the bed, nor did it have a chance to slip under the bed, since it's a platform bed.

Now  before you question my priorities here, tape vs. blood thinner overdose, I did the right things, once the doc's office opened, and got instructions from them. No more Plavix till Sunday night. (Or maybe I'll just wait till Monday, eh?) Everything is rainbowing, changing into greens and yellows, purples fading... well, you've all watched bruises fade. No further worries there. But the one thing I can't get out of my head is this: just what the heck happened to that other piece of tape?